The Fourth Quarter Quell: Cage Match
by The Copy Editor's Copy Editor
Summary: In the 100th Hunger Games, 48 tributes will be reaped, but only 24 will enter the Capitol. These are not your ordinary reapings! Rated for violence, language, etc. *OPEN.*
1. Prologue: The President's Speech

**A/N: Okay, here's the first chapter of my new story (apparently I really like writing about the Quells). This is the same universe as my other Quell story, you can check the prologue of that one to get the whole story on why there was no rebellion and the Games continue (basically, Peeta did not survive and Katniss was not the Mockingjay).  
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**For this Quell, four tributes will be reaped from each district, and they will have to fight to the death right then and there. I have the tribute form on my profile, but feel free to make your own as well. PLEASE ONLY SUBMIT THROUGH PM. If you submit through a review, I will not use your tribute. Thanks for reading, and get ready for a wild ride!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games nor any of the characters therein. Suzanne Collins does. **

_Chapter One – Prologue_

In front of a rapt audience of 10,000 Capitolians, a sea of brightly colored hair and attire, President Aurelius Atticus Argent stepped up to his podium, waving his hand to the crowd. A rotund, genial man, he could not seem more different from his father, the late President Snow.

"Greetings!" he boomed, and the audience cheered. At home, watching on decrepit videograms, or gathered in the town square, the people of the districts were quiet, wary. It was that time again—the Hunger Games Quarter Quell. The citizens of the Capitol loved it, but it always spelled trouble for those forced to participate, and they waited anxiously to see what this year's disastrous twist would be.

For the First Quarter Quell, the districts were forced to choose their own tributes. For the Second, twice the usual number of tributes went into the arena. For the Third, the tributes were reaped not from the normal age range of 12–18, but from the entire pool of district citizens. What could the Capitol have in store this year?

It didn't take long to find out. President Argent signaled behind him and a beautiful young boy stepped up carrying a wooden box. The President smiled down at the boy in a way that made the Capitol citizens murmur and took a sheet of folded paper out of the box. He cleared his throat before reading the declaration aloud, pretending admirably that it was a surprise to him.

"On the one hundredth anniversary of the rebellion, as a reminder to the districts that these Games are a result of their own brutality, 48 tributes will be reaped, but only 24 will make it to the Capitol."

He smiled brightly, putting down the card, and walked off stage. Immediately, a buzz begins amongst the audience as they begin speculating excitedly as to what would happen.

"Every tribute in the arena will already have a kill count!" exclaimed a teenage boy with green hair and spikes in his ears. "It'll be like having access to the training sessions!" a middle-aged man whispered to his companion, already counting up betting slips. The escorts, sitting in their own special segment on stage, giggled and tittered, reviewing their knowledge of the districts they watched over and the tributes who had already entered the Games, to win or lose. The Gamemakers had missed the announcement, and were already hard at work, designing the arena and building cages.

In the districts, conversation was just as intense although far more worried and confused. "What does that mean?" A young woman worried, clutching her baby to her breast. "What are they going to do to us now?" Teenagers roamed the streets, speculating. In Districts 1, 2, and 4, the training academies started up in earnest; no matter the twist, they wanted to give the Capitol the best tributes imaginable.

From his lonely room in the biggest mansion in the Capitol, President Argent smiled and smiled and smiled.


	2. D1 Reapings: Fire & Ice

**A/N: Okay, here's the first reaping. It may give you a better idea of how to fill out the tribute form. These are all my OCs; submitted tributes will all get at least one POV before they are killed (whenever that may be). I just messed up my math when I was writing this one. Anyway, welcome to the bloodiest reapings ever! I do need more tributes, please check my profile for the form and list—no submissions through reviews! I hope you guys enjoy this! R/R please!**

CHAPTER TWO—FIRE & ICE

_Blaze Lothar, 15_

I woke up early on reaping day. No one knows exactly what this year's Quarter Quell announcement means, but it's easy to guess. There's going to be a fight. And if there's anything I love, it's a fight. I get down to the training center early and start limbering up. I'm planning to put myself through a whole regimen today before I get to the town square. I need to be ready, primed, but not tired. It's a fine line to walk, but I plan to do it.

When I get to the training center, it's full to the brim with would-be tributes. All running around the track, hacking at dummies with swords, or in one-on-one dueling sessions with past Victors. It looks like everyone has had the same idea as me. So much for getting a head start, I guess, but in the end it doesn't matter. I'm perfectly primed this year—old enough to have a good chance in the arena (and whatever they have planned for us at the reaping), young enough to be close to the stage when they call for volunteers.

I ignore the other kids and get to work on some strength training, following up with axe and swordwork. I debate practicing my archery, but decide against it. Archery's not one of my best skills, and this time there are three other opponents who might be watching me. I consider this like the training sessions in the Capitol—a way to show off my skills and intimidate my enemies. Of course, I don't even know who they are yet, but if they see an arrow go wildly off course, they'll be looking for the idiot who shot it.

Instead I trot home for a shower before the reaping. On my way, I see a group of girls already dressed and heading to the square for the reaping. I recognize them, but don't know their names—they're all a few years older than me, and I can tell by their outfits that they're from the good side of town and probably not planning to volunteer. That's the thing about District 1. It's not like everyone thinks. I know the other districts see us as the Capitol's lapdogs, sharing their love for the Hunger Games and their naming conventions, but only the district's richest are really like that.

The rest of us view the Games as nothing more than a way out. And for me, this is my year to get out.

But there's no harm in having a little fun along the way, is there? I walk a little fast, catching up with the group of girls. They're a colorful bunch: blue dresses, red shoes, one of them all in silver. "Hey, ladies," I say, giving them a good view of my pearly whites. I've never let my parents' lack of money get in the way of my looks. It'll be important in the Games. The stylists are good, but they can't fix rotten teeth or bad skin. I know I look good, if your tastes run to brawny red heads.

The girls seem to agree, tittering behind their hands. "You ladies planning to volunteer today?" I ask, adding gallantly, "It would be a shame to see any of you covered in arena mud and blood." It's rhetorical, I know none of them will be in the Games.

But to my surprise, one of them replies. "I'm going to volunteer." It's the girl in gold. She's got the aristocratic good looks of the upper class of District 1, but muscular arms and she carries herself with the bearing of someone who knows how to fight. Still, I've never seen her at the academy. When I mention as much, she informs me, looking down her nose, that she has a private tutor. Well, la di da for her.

With that, I take my leave of the girls, who seem as surprised as I am to know their friend is planning to volunteer. I can hear their high pitched squealing all the way down the street. I guess we'll just have to see if the girl really does make it into the Games.

Having wasted so much time talking to the girls, without even a flirtatious glance to make it worth my while, I have to really hustle to get home and change in time for the reaping. Home is small, and I move through as quickly as possible, trying not to disturb my parents, both of whom are still asleep. We get Reaping Day off from school and work, but some unscrupulous overseers, like the ones at the factory where my parents do quality control, get around this rule by making their employees work through the night. I don't think they'll even make it to the reaping, but I hope they'll be able to see me off at the Justice Building. Just in case, I crack open their door and take a look at their sleeping forms. Then, annoyed at my own sentimentality—not a good thing for a Career to display—I leave the house, possibly, probably, hopefully for the last time.

_Eirwen Glass, 17_

I get to the reaping square early, take my place as far to the front of the 17s' section as I can get, and start doing some stretches. Some of the girls around me give me dirty looks, because a few of these stretches take me into what they consider their personal space, but several others start imitating me. Whatever, it doesn't matter. As long as I can limber up enough to make it to the front of the crowd, and whatever it is that they're throwing at us with this Quarter Quell business. I notice that the stage for the reaping this year is much bigger than it ever has been, with two huge squares set off from the main stage.

My warm-up exercises done, I jog slowly in place, not wanting to get stiff waiting around. I continue to draw annoyed glances from the girls in my age group. After all, I am wearing a noticeable gown—adorned with silver sequins, which throw off light like a pre-Panem disco ball—but no one else realizes that my dress was specifically designed by Apollo, Victor of the 115th Hunger Games and my tutor and mentor to accentuate my looks without hindering my movement in any way. In this dress I can be deadly, while still looking like a delicate fucking flower like the rest of the girls of my class.

Soon enough, District 1's escort, Twinkle Rose, a seemingly ageless woman who has been our escort since before the last Quell, bounds up to the microphone. "Hello, District 1!" she yells. We all cheer back at her. There's no lack of enthusiasm for the Games in District 1, even among those who have no interest in competing, like my friends.

After waiting for the cheering to die down, Twinkle Rose continues. "Before we get down to the business of the reaping, which I'm sure you're all very excited about—" Here, she gives her patented Twinkle Rose smile. "—I need to tell you about what's going to happen this year. As you know, every Quarter Quell is different and special in its own way. But I think this year will be the best Quell of all!" She pauses for applause, and we oblige. "This year, we will be reaping not two but FOUR tributes from the pool of eligible citizens!" She beams again. "Both tributes of each sex will be competing in a fight to the death, _right here in front of you_! Only the surviving male and female tribute will be continuing to the Capitol!" She once again waits for applause, and again gets it, but it's slower, more hesitant this time. I'm sure there are districts—2, mostly—where this will be the most exciting thing ever to happen at a reaping, but the thought does give me pause. Maybe I should wait for next year. How humiliating to volunteer and not even make it to the Capitol! That's worse than dying in the Bloodbath! We have so few tributes die that early, but everyone knows the names of those who do, and their families are whispered about. Apollo would be furious.

But now that I've made up my mind, I can't go back on it. I'm not good at changing plans. This will be my year. I'll just have to get out of this fight alive.

Twinkle has been telling us more about the rules, but I no longer care. Now that I'm sure I'm going to volunteer, I just want her to draw a name so I can get up there. And almost before I know it, that's what's happening. Twinkle puts her hand into the reaping ball and draws out a name. But almost before she can read it, there's already a cry of "I volunteer!"

I can't believe it. There's another girl at the stage, climbing up it, volunteering. That's supposed to be my spot. I feel a little like crying, or maybe punching something, probably both, but then I remember that this year there are _two_ tributes. Thank god.

Before I can think further, run up to the podium, yelling, "I also volunteer!"

Twinkle Rose looks at me, possibly wanting to tell me that I'm volunteering out of turn. I look back at her, trying to convey that if she doesn't let me volunteer now, I'm going to pitch a fit, and then just volunteer again anyway. She must get the message, because she turns and asks me my name. Turning back, she exclaims, "Well then, District 1, welcome to your new female tributes, Eirwen Glass and Cypress Tumulus!"

We wave at the crowd and shake hands, each sizing up the other for a fight. I think I can take her. She's shorter than I am, but willowy. Like I could snap her in two. She's got rich brown eyes, and her matching curly brown hair tumbles around her face. A heart-shaped face. I'm sure all the boys are in love with her. I will annihilate her.

Meanwhile, Twinkle Rose is drawing the male tributes. But, possibly taking their cue from me, the boys don't wait to hear whose name has been drawn. They rush the stage in a mass, two of them scrambling in front of the mob to climb onto the stage with us.

One of them is heart stoppingly gorgeous, if you're into that sort of thing, and the other is the redhead who challenged me on my way to the reaping. Good, I was hoping he would actually make it as a volunteer.

"Your male tributes, Blaze Lothar and Casanova Canorum!" All four of us shake hands, unsure of what will happen next. Some sort of all-out brawl? Will I be killing this girl with my bare hands?

As if reading our minds, Twinkle shuffles Cypress and me over to one of the square additions to the stage, and the boys over to the other.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The first reaping of the new Quarter Quell, and with it… your first match! Ladies first!" Twinkle smiles at us, but there's nothing sweet about it. She makes a motion with her hands, as if drawing something upwards, and a cage rises from the wood of the stage to surround us.

As the metal clangs into place, I wonder again if this will be a fight to the death with only our bodies, but as Cypress and I circle each other, the floor opens two squares, each holding a serrated knife. We both dive for them, but I miss and Cypress gets both. And that's when the battle really begins.

_Casanova Canorum, 18_

I knew I had to volunteer when I saw what incredible babes the girls are. I wasn't sure before this. I've trained, of course, because that's how you get cred in District 1, and I've dreamed of the glory of winning the Games—god, just to get a crack at those Capitol girls—but somehow I've never managed to get up the nerve to volunteer. Is nerve even the write word? It's not about courage. I've got courage coming out my asshole. I can kick anyone's ass here. I just don't care enough. I've got a good job in the gem trade, following in my father's footsteps. I could even be overseer one day. Why risk that?

But those girls, man. Gorgeous. One light, one dark. One tall, one short. Day and night, but both with bodies that could make you… ooh, I could have some fun with either of them. It's a win-win for me. Plus, it turns out that having a good job is boring.

Watching them now is beautiful. They're circling each other, looking for an opening, but the dark one has both the knives. I bet she wins. I can just imagine kissing that heart-shaped mouth, my hand twined in that curly dark hair, as we celebrate in the train on the way to the Capitol.

But just as I'm thinking that, the dark girl throws a knife at the one in the silver dress—no point in learning their names, one of them's going to be dead soon—but misses, so the knife ends up on stage out of reach of both of them. At the same time, Silver Dress headbutts Darky into the bars of the cage. Her head hits the metal with an audible smack, and beside me my red-haired rival winces.

Dark Hair manages to get in a good swipe with the remaining knife as she goes down, though, slicing through the silver dress. Silver Dress hisses in pain and backs away, bright red running down her sequins. Her opponent lurches from the bars of the cage, her hair matted to her head around a red wound. Neither of them are so pretty now, and I'm beginning to wonder if volunteering really was the best choice.

The two girls really go at it now, slamming each other into the bars of the cage, grappling for the remaining knife. Dark Hair, holding the knife, really seems to have the best of it. She stabs silver dress over and over, and Silver Dress seems to be slowing, weakening. Dark Hair kicks her down and sits on her, cutting her over and over and Silver Dress lays weakly on the floor, barely stirring. Dark Hair looks up, triumphant, staring directly into my eyes. I smile at her, letting her know she was always my favorite, and I will congratulate her on the train.

But then, moving with a speed I didn't think possible, Silver Dress sits up, grabs the knife Dark Hair holds loosely in her hands, and plunges it directly into her opponent's heart. Dark Hair, her eyes still on me, folds over. A cannon sounds, loud in the silence of the square. Twinkle Rose leaps from her seat, applauding frantically as the cage is lowered back into the stage. Two Peacekeepers lumber forward to pull Dark Hair off Silver Dress, who is helped slowly to her feet by Twinkle. District 1's living tribute for the Quell isn't so gorgeous anymore. Her eyes are wide and dazed, her dress cut to ribbons and covered in blood. Her face is bruised and her nose is broken, but she smiles wide, revealing a knocked out tooth, when Twinkle Rose holds up her hand, congratulating her on her victory.

That smile makes her beautiful again, and the wear-and-tear on her body make her seem more deadly, and I'm reminded that, even though she's not as straight up sexy as the dark-haired girl, she's obviously fierce and crafty and would make a great ally and partner. In more than just the Games, _ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinky oudo_.

But of course then the cage comes up around me and the other guy, Red. Red's more prepared than I am, and I while I'm still looking over at Silver Dress, he's already starting to move. Luckily the knives haven't come up through the floor yet, so I have some time to evaluate him and his style. He's not really built for knife fighting, too stocky to move quickly.

But there's another surprise in store. Because when the weapons appear, they're not knives at all. They're hammers. And Red picks one up and jumps at me before I've even gotten my wits together. I feel a blow to my hand and pain flares up my arm.

_10 minutes later…_

_Twinkle Rose, District 1 Escort_

This Quarter Quell is unlike any other. The very first tribute to make it to the Games, Eirwen, has been hustled into a hovercraft and taken straight to the Capitol to get patched up before the chariot rides. Today has made me proud to be the escort for District 1. Two fights, two different sides of District 1. Beauty and brutality. Grace and strength. It was a beautiful fight between the girls, close right until the end. The boys' fight was… different. I'd known ahead of time, of course, that each fight will feature a different weapon, but it's still amazing to me how brutal those hammers were.

Casanova, with the beautiful dark hair and aquiline nose, never recovered from the shock of the weaponry. It was less a fight than a particularly terrible beating. Blaze simply swung the hammer over and over, each blow crushing a different bone or feature. Within a minute, Casanova had only one eye, and half his face was caved in. The first injuries he received were to his hands, so he couldn't even pick up his weapon to fight back. Blaze got it instead, and just rained blows double-handed. By the time the cannon sounded, all that was left of Casanova was a huddled pile of flesh. It no longer even resembled a person. There wasn't a scratch on Blaze. He stood beside me, one hand still clutching a hammer, his clothes splattered with blood, grinning and grinning and not saying a word.

Too bad, really. Casanova would have been a good Victor—the Capitol would have loved him. They've all missed Finnick.


	3. D2 - The City of Brotherly Love

**A/N: Whew, this took a long time. I apologize. I was out of work and it gave me some pretty severe writer's block. But I'm over it, and hopefully I can update pretty regularly. I do still need some tributes, though, check my profile for list and form. I will also be getting back to my other story, about the Third Quarter Quell. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. R/R, please. **

CHAPTER THREE – THE DISTRICT OF BROTHERLY LOVE

_Rhodes Talon, 17_

District 2 reapings typically take place in the morning, and are one of the few days I look forward to. I know that's not normal. Even in District 2, the district with the most Victors, Reaping Day isn't exactly a celebration. It's a source of competition, the first step towards victory and a life of luxury, but no one looks forward to it in its own right. Except Mera and me. We both love Reaping Day because it's an escape from our parents. On a normal day, we both wake at dawn and I head to Dad's masonry while Mera gets started on the days chores. Today, we get to sleep in a bit, and then head to training before the reaping starts. Even better, we may be able to get out of the house without seeing either of our parents. With that thought, I shake Mera awake, and indicate that we should leave while Mom and Dad are still asleep.

We dress quickly, throwing on our threadbare Reaping Day clothes. You're supposed to wear your nicest clothes to the reaping, in case you're picked and end up in the Capitol. They care a lot about looks there. But Mera and I don't have any nice clothes. We don't have nice anything, really, even though my parents could afford it. Mera and I were mistakes. My mother didn't mean to get pregnant, let alone have twins, and my parents only kept us because they thought it would look strange to give us away. They use us primarily as a cheap source of labor, and as a way to get a house in Victors' Village.

They started us in training at age 10, and as much as I hate to admit it, it was the best thing they could have done. When I'm training, I don't have to think about anything, and I know that this year, once I volunteer, one way or another, I'll be out of it for good. I know that my parents expect me to put them up in my house in Victors' Village once I win, but I have no plans to do that. I don't know why they think I will, other than that I do everything they tell me. But that's only because I have to. Once I win the Games, I don't have to listen to them about anything anymore. And I won't. I'll just grab Mera, and we'll move into the big house, and never ever have to see our parents again.

As we walk down the streets to the training center, Mera is quiet. To anyone else, this might seem normal, but I always see a different side of my sister than anyone else. With me, she can be quite the chatterbox. We might seem aloof, surly, and dangerous to the rest of the district, but that's just one more tactic for the Games.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask lightly, hoping to draw her out of her shell. Mera remains silent for another block, but then turns to me, her face thoughtful.

"What do you think this year's twist means?"

It wasn't the question I was expecting, but I try my best to answer anyway. "Well, I don't know exactly. No one does. But it seems likely that there will be some sort of fight or contest at the reaping."

"What do you think will happen to the loser?"

I bite my lip, thinking it through. There's only one thing that makes sense. "Knowing the Capitol…"

My sister nods. "They die." We walk another block in silence before Mera voices another question. "Are you still planning to volunteer?"

"Yeah."

"Even with the Quell twist?"

I nod. Mera's silent again. I want to explain to her that I can't wait another year to get out of that house, away from our parents. That the sooner I move into the Victors' Village, the sooner I can get my sister out, too. That I'm doing this for us, for her. She looks so dejected, and I can't figure out why. This has always been our plan, why is she questioning it now?

Mera sucks her cheeks in, chewing on the inside, a habit she's never been able to break. "What if you lose?"

"I'm not going to lose," I remind her. "I've been training for 7 years. I'm taller, faster, stronger than everyone else. You know District 2 has had more victors than any other district. There's a reason for that. We're the best, and I'm the best of the best. I'm not going to lose, I promise."

Mera smiles weakly. "Dad talked to me last night."

I frown. Dad and Mera never talk. Mom's in charge of Mera, Dad has nothing to do with the running of the house. "What did he want?"

"He reminded me that if you didn't win this year…" She trailed off, swallowed, and then started over. "If you didn't win this year, they're going to make me volunteer next year."

"Mera!" I stop still and swing around to face her. "Mera, no!" The thing is… my sister's not really cut out for the games. She's been training as long as I have, but she's honestly terrible at it. She has terrible aim and a weak arm. Her arrows wobble through the air before falling halfway to the target. "How could they even make you volunteer? Just don't do it!"

"But even so… Rhodes… oh, Rhodes." Standing in the middle of the street, my beautiful twin sister starts to cry. I go over to hug her, comfort her, tell her that I'll make it out for her, I'll be a victor for her, but her words worry me. My parents want a victor at any cost. Could they really make her go into the Games? She'd never make it out alive. Drying her tears, Mera turns to me. "Rhodes, you have to understand. If you don't win… if you die… there's nothing left for me. Are you sure you have to volunteer? In a year, we can leave our parents. You could be a Peacekeeper! We could have our own lives… why do you have to risk it all on the Games?"

But I can't answer her. She's right, of course. My sister may not be much at training, but she's smart. In a year, we could move out. Our parents couldn't do anything about it. I could enter Peacekeeper training. A lot of guys who don't make it into the Games become Peacekeepers. The training's pretty similar.

But I also don't think I can give up something I've been working toward for so long. Plus, once I win, we can get away from all of this and never work again. I don't think I'm being overconfident in thinking I'll win. District 2 has the best training and the most winners in all of Panem. And right now, I'm the best in District 2.

It would be more of a gamble to think a Peacekeeper's salary could keep me and Mera happy.

Having calmed my worries, and hopefully Mera's as well, I'm able to concentrate fully on my workout. I get through a full rotation of all the weapons that might be in the arena. By the time Mera and I leave, I'm covered in sweat, but Mera's quieter than ever.

Neither of us bothers to change for the Reaping. That's something they do in other Districts, to try and get sponsors by looking pretty. District 2 doesn't care about pretty. District 2 cares about winning.

The sweat is drying on my clothes when Mera and I take our places in the 17s' section. Our tribute, a diminutive woman named Cherry Teapot, is already beginning the reaping. She tells us that our reaping won't begin until District 1 has finished. The screen behind her immediately begins showing District 1's reaping. It's apparently already over, and we see the recap of what happened. Already my mind is racing, trying to fit the implications into a survival scenario. Cherry's moving the ceremony right along, already calling for male tribute volunteers. Most districts do the girls first, then the guys, but Cherry likes to mix things up and we never know who will be called first.

Without waiting, I streak towards the stage. There isn't much competition this year. I've beaten most of the other potential tributes in training and everyone knows I've been planning to volunteer. I make it to Cherry with a minimum of violence, another tribute just inches behind me. We're both helped up onto the stage and made to shake hands. The other boy, Lance, is blonde and beefy. He grins at me when we shake hands, but inwardly I'm groaning. Lance is my main competition in training. I should have known he would be the other volunteer. I'm trying to cudgel my brain into remembering his strengths and weaknesses as Cherry moves onto calling for female volunteers. They don't worry me much—I don't need to worry about my district partner until after I survive the reaping.

Or that's what I thought.

Until I see Mera streaking up to the front, yelling, "I volunteer!"

_Mera Talon, 17_

I can see that Rhodes isn't very happy about this. I mean, I didn't think he would be, or anything. That's why I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to talk me out of this. I can see how worried he is, though, thinking that we're going to go into the Games together. But we won't. I'm not getting into the Games. I'm not going to watch Rhodes fight for his life and possibly lose. I know he thinks he's going to win. That's one of the things I love about him, that he's so optimistic. But I know the odds, and even being from District 2 isn't a guarantee. I couldn't bear to watch him lose the Games, and then have to exist without him. It would be too hard. Plus, Mother and Father would make me volunteer next year. So this will be better. Rhodes won't have to worry about me anymore. He can go into the Games and do his best, and maybe he will win and he can be free. But he won't be weighed down by me. I shake hands with the other female volunteer, a skinny, scary looking girl named Jade, and then I take my place inside the cage, watch the bars go up around me, and take a seat, ready to meet my death.

_Rhodes Talon, 17_

I watch with horror as Mera takes her place inside the cage. As it rises up around her, Mera gives me one long, sad look and shakes her head. That's when I know. That's when I realize. I'd thought she was volunteering to try to get out of our parents' house by winning. But she's taking a surer route, through death.

I can't let her. I can't. She's my sister.

But it's what she wants. But she's my sister. But there's nothing I can do. But she's my sister.

The cage's ceiling clangs on its hinges to seal my sister into her fate. Patches in the floor open to produce weapons. Before they appear, Cherry Teapot leans into the microphone, mentioning, as if conferring a great secret, "By the way, girls, I'd keep away from the bars with those things."

Her remark is puzzling until the other girl, Jade, picks an object off the floor and presses a button. Immediately, an electric hum fills the hair, and sparks fly from the end of the weapon. I've seen these in the history books. Peacekeepers used to carry them, but they were discontinued as being too much work to produce without inflicting enough damage on their victims. Not this model, though. They must have added some juice to these tasers. I can tell, because Mera hasn't even tried to reach for hers, and her body jumps uncontrollably when Jade pushes the current into her.

Jade's smile widens as she prods an unresisting Mera over and over. Mera has begun to whimper, and now scream, as volts race through her body over and over, her limbs jerking. She has retreated to the back of the cage, leaning against the bars, but there's nowhere for her to go. Still, she makes no move to defend herself.

I can feel my throat restrict, my breathing slowing. I fumble in my pocket for my inhaler, breathing in the fine powder that helps unclog my airways. My asthma always flares up when I'm under stress, and what could produce panic better than watching your sweet, caring, defenseless sister being slowly murdered by a psychopath with a stun gun?

Maybe I could have taken it if it had been any other weapon. Something quick. A knife, a sword, an axe. Hell, even a hammer. But not this, not like this. But there's nothing I can do. No way to help Mera.

I have to stop watching this. I can't bear it. To give my eyes a rest, I glance over at our escort to see what she thinks of this rather uneven fight, and she has a small frown on her face, but otherwise looks undisturbed to be witnessing my sister's death. On the other hand, I don't know what I expected. She's from the Capitol, after all.

But as I watch her watching my sister and her and opponent, I remember her advice, and I get an idea.

I turn back to the fight. Mera's movements are weaker. If I'm going to do this, it needs to be soon. To be now. But I also need the exact right circumstances for this to work.

By now, Jade is almost holding Mera up. I wait until Jade's lifted the taser from Mera's flesh, leaving behind black flesh and a scorched smell. She keeps the electricity flowing in her weapon as she steps back and surveys her handiwork, possibly trying to find a new location on Mera's beaten body, which slides bonelessly to collapse on the floor.

At that moment, I throw my inhaler at the cage. The resulting clang makes Jade whip around and-yes-the electrical current comes into contact with the metal bars. Immediately, the electricity crackles through the cage, running up Jade's arm, and electrocuting her. As her lifeless body falls on top of Mera, the line is broken, but her taser continues to crackle.

Silence falls as Cherry and the watching crowd wait to see if the fight is really so quickly, unexpectedly over.

And it is. Sort of.

Because even as Mera's cage retracts and she begins to stir, the bars of my own cage rise around me.

But I'm not worried. Because my sister has survived the reapings and will be a tribute in the 100th annual Hunger Games. And _nobody_ is going to stop me from joining her.


End file.
